


boy, you're gonna carry that weight

by Ushio



Category: Hamilton - Miranda, Les Misérables (2012)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Crossover, Gen, Grief/Mourning, also this is based on the movie okay i haven't read the books, but let's be honest this is probably inaccurate as fuck, i looked up the dates and they /could/ have met, so don't look too deeply into it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-21 09:47:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10682793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ushio/pseuds/Ushio
Summary: Lafayette feels the imperious urge to draw him in into a tight embrace, the way he wishes someone would have embraced him when he needed it the most. He feels an urge to comfort the deep-seated sadness still within him, to tell him what no-one else has dared tell him yet: that he will never be the same again. Not truly, no matter how many years go past. He wishes to tell himI understand, I do, we're the same, you and Iand he wishes—“I wish I could have spared you this pain, Monsieur Pontmercy,” he says.[An unlikely encounter between two men of different station but similar heart.]





	boy, you're gonna carry that weight

**Author's Note:**

> the tags say it all but. idk this is probably super wrong in a thousand different ways but i really wanted to write it. a gift for my friend Chess for secret santa last christmas <3\. i hope y'all enjoy it.

Lafayatte is an old man by now and he has seen many things in his life, some of which he would rather forget. He has seen and caused pain in equal measures; been involved in every skirmish, battle and war that has happened on either side of the ocean for the last forty years. He has fought tooth and nail for freedom, even when it did not seam feasible or even rational. God knows his efforts here in France, his own home country, have not been helpful (much like that darned Louise-Philippe); the blood-soaked streets and broken barricades will forever stay with him in his mind's eye. So many young faces among the corpses. Children too. So many wasted lives... risen just to fall. He can hear an old friend's voice in his ear, softly singing after too many a drink on his last night as a bachelor. He was laughing, too, hands gripped around Laurens' shoulders and he said _raise up! We gotta tell them— we gotta tell them— to raise up!_ and he said _they deserve freedom_ and Lafayette loved him, for that. What he said is of little importance now, for he is dead, long gone, struck from the earth by a twisted man. A man who was also there that night, who smiled tight-lipped and remained quiet.

He finds himself often reminiscing these days; as if old age has tuned him soft, more pliable to nostalgia and wistfulness. He cares little for such weakness and tries to stay on top of it when the mood strikes. But it is hard, sometimes, specially when he encounters his anguish in other faces and the burden he carries in other shoulders. He mourns for every person robbed of happiness by this endless war, this war that keeps ripping by the seams his beloved country apart; he griefs for the dead and destitute, countless, faceless, a constant river of death. Now, he pities the young face looking up to him. It belongs to a noble man, a freckled, blond youth. He stares at him, silently, from across the room where they lounge in another one of those absurd, superfluous aristocratic parties he gets constantly invited to. Lafayette rarely attends these gatherings and, when he does, he expects nothing worthy of his attention. But this man, so stoned-faced and tall, this man looks at him with hollowed eyes and Lafayette knows that he has the same look. This man has been to war and he has lost. There is something frail to him despite his strong, healthy frame. He has the looks of someone who carries a heart made out of glass; easily broken, probably chipped. He holds his stare, unmoving, daring him to come. His mouth trembles. It is only when when a young woman, golden-haired and sweet appears at his arm that the hardness in his eyes melts away as if it had never been there. He turns to her, gently, swift like a flower bends to the wind. _He smiles like Laurens_ , he thinks and the pain comes quickly, smothering the warmth out of him. Lafayette lets out a small sigh and leaves the room.

He is breathing in the sweet perfume of the garden primroses when the young man comes to him. Alone. The youth waits behind him, not uttering a word, still as still can be. When Lafayette turns to face him he feels like he has been slapped. The harshness he had seen in his face looks much more like deep mourning up-close. His light eyes are steeped in regret.

“You...” he begins, voice high and clear, “you are like me.”

“I beg your pardon?” Lafayette says, raising an eyebrow. Emotional trauma is rarely an excuse for poor manners. The man stutters, red-faced and squares his shoulders.

“Excuse me, Monsieur le Marquis. I should have introduced myself first. My name is Marius Pontmercy, and I am...”

His name sparkles a recognition in Lafayette's mind that had not been there before. He remembers, now.

“I know who you are. You were in one of the barricades.”

Marius blinks, owlishly, surprised.

“How could you possibly know, Monsieur le Marquis?”

“I went there in the afterwards. I wanted to see with my own eyes that which I had not been able to prevent. They told me about the barricade that stood the longest and about its sole survivor. Your grandfather had been looking for you, terribly worried... you were widly discussed for days in every soirée.”

“I... had no idea.”

“Were you not aware of this, Monsieur Pontmercy?”

“I do not remember much of the following weeks. I was... devastated. My friends...” He stops mid-sentence, mouth hanging open and hands curled into one another. He seems lost and his eyes look away, as if he could see something beyond his reach. Then, abruptly, he closes his mouth and presses his lips in a thin line. His eyes return, clouded like a storm brewing over.

Lafayette feels the imperious urge to draw him in into a tight embrace, the way he wishes someone would have embraced him when he needed it the most. He feels an urge to comfort the deep-seated sadness still within him, to tell him what no-one else has dared tell him yet: that he will never be the same again. Not truly, no matter how many years go past. He wishes to tell him _I understand, I do, we're the same, you and I_ and he wishes—

“I wish I could have spared you this pain, Monsieur Pontmercy,” he says. With a gesture of his hand, he guides Marius towards one of the stone benches scattered across the garden. He walks slowly, making good use of his golden cane, and Marius keeps up with his pace in absolute silence. His eyes are glassy and ghost-like. When they sit, Lafayette allows himself a minute to prepare his heart for the upcoming battle. Then, he speaks.

“I understand you, Monsieur Pontmercy, far better than I wish I did. I was strongly involved in the American Revolutionary process as you very well know and I lost many good friends along the way. I knew extremely fine men whose lives were cut short, unjustly so— and I understand...”

“It should not have happened!” He exclaims, abruptly. Lafayette jumps a little, startled at his sudden outburst, but not surprised in the least. Marius is bottling strong feelings, terrible feelings that will eat him raw if he does not let them go. It is not the time, nor the place... but when is it? When is it the perfect time to allow one's heart to break?

“I know.”

“It is more than unjust, it's a travesty that they should die for... Freedom! Something that we ought to posses from birth.”

“I _know_ ,” he repeats, sadly. Marius looks at him, ashamed. “Do not regret your words. I agree with them. It is unjust and dreadful and it hurts... you are in pain, are you not?”

Marius does not answer and Lafayette presses on.

“This pain you carry now in your heart shall never go away. It will dim with time, become softer, almost like an undercurrent to your every thought. In ten years, in twenty years, you will wake up and the blood-splattered faces of your dear friends will not be the first thing you see in the morning. But they will be there. And they shall never leave. Like a stone in your pocket. Like a weight in your chest.”

Marius does not reply and Lafayette waits. In his mind, he remembers Hercules' lewd jokes and Hamilton's snorting laugh. His own chest feels tight. Marius does not answer at once. His words are clipped, smooth, like a pebble carried around for a long time, eroded by countless hands.

“I do not wish to forget them.”

“You will not. It is only their memory that will hurt less.”

“Am I not disrespecting their memories, though, by not feeling such a pain anymore...?”

“How could you? Would they have wanted you to suffer?”

Marius smiles, softly.

“No. No, they would not.”

“Tell me about your friends.”

“But, Monsieur le Marquis, I would never dare to impose such a...”

“I insist.”

There's a long moment of silence while Marius collects his thoughts. They share the silence together, basking in it, in its weight and in its necessity. They breath in all the painful memories, the heartbreak, the solitude and the bitterness — and then they push it aside and exhale the good things. The things they never stop to think about. Marius smiles at his feet, a slow, proud smile.

“... Enjolras was a pain in the ass. Revolution this, revolution that. He... he was married to Lady Liberty.”

Lafayette lets out a low chuckle.

“It seems he would have gotten along swell with my good, old friend Mr.Hamilton."

Marius smiles wider when his tale begins; he speaks of friends and a Café and ideas capable of changing the world. Out of the corner of his eye, Lafayette sees a blonde woman, beautifully clad in a velveteen green dress smiling sweetly at him. He smiles back.


End file.
